The Calabrian Corner

Calabria's Customs Live On

Previously, I alluded to my fascination with some of the idioms and expressions that were passed down to me
by my Calabrian ancestors. But our ancestral culture is rich in many other aspects as well. Over the centuries,
its music and its folklore have certainly made their presence felt; but there are many customs whose rural
qualities link them specifically to Southern Italy. Furthermore, I have always suspected that the Calabrian psyche
has been at play during the evolution of these traditions. For example, the wailing ritual that I have seen at
many Calabrian funerals has always struck me as an incredible phenomenon. I mean, no one sits at home practising
such a ritual in order to be prepared to perform their duty the day a member of their household dies; yet, when
the time comes, the womenfolk always seem to wail and chant with a remarkable, emotion-provoking similarity.
Indeed, many a stoic soul has approached the family of the deceased with the intention of lending courage and
support only to find himself/herself sobbing uncontrollably moments later. In my novel, In the Twilight of
the Moon, one of the characters, a youth raised in North America, has difficulty witnessing these dynamics,
for the first time, at the funeral of his grandmother. Here is an excerpt:

The most difficult moment for Ma and her siblings was the moment in which the funeral director shut the lid on
the coffin. A wail erupted throughout the room and my eyes, too, welled up in that instant. Somehow, while the
coffin was open, nonna was still with us, unable to communicate personally, but she was there for us to
look at, to touch, to kiss, to tell one another how beautiful and peaceful she looked, and so on. But once the
lid came down on that coffin, all we had left was a wooden box with a stack of memories—for ever and ever.

"It's all right, Pina, she'll always be with us."

"Let her rest in peace, Renata, she lives on through the kids."

"We'll leave her bedroom just the way it is, Sofia. Her every memory will be preserved in our house."

And before we knew it we were in funeral cars on the way to the cemetery, where the hand of death would
reveal more if its smug arrogance. As we walked towards the plot, the sight of the gaping hole in the ground
triggered the eruption of another wail from some of our family members and relatives. I realized immediately
where that pit would lead, and it would take nonna there for the rest of eternity, to be joined one
day by the remaining members of our clan. One by one, nonna's relatives would reunite with her. And
then it hit me. One day, I would end up in a pit just like that one. A shudder went through me and nonna
suddenly seemed less important.

From an anthropological perspective, I suppose that a symbiotic two–fold purpose has been at work; namely,
Calabrian customs appear to have been a means of keeping the social unit together while keeping ancient
traditions alive. The Patron Saint of my ancestors' hometown, for example, is Saint Rocco. To this day, people
related in some way to our ancestral Calabrian home continue to celebrate his feast day annually, regardless
of which country they curently live in. Indeed, a banner with Saint Rocco's image, provided by the local
chapter of paesani, is often set up at social
gatherings, funerals, etc.

I also suspect that to most Calabrians, the religious aspect of our history is the common thread behind
the need to sustain these traditions. Certainly, as a kid, I could not help but notice that a primary role of
our Marching Band was at the forefront of Church processions. I was also aware that certain baked goods made
their appearance only at Christmas and at Easter, which suggested our family's intention to honor ancient
religious customs and to pass on ancestral obligations to the younger generation.

As you can see, the Calabrian mindset fascinates me and each new insight quickly leads to another. In my novel, I
try to share some of these insights. At one point, I refer to a famous folk-song that touches upon several themes.
I believe the song to be of Sicilian origin, but it is certainly well–known to Calabrians as well. Traditional
renditions include those of Rosa Balistreri and
Domenico Modugno and
Otello Profazio, while even
Bon Jovi has paid tribute to it. Like many of the
old songs, it tells a story—of a fascination with death ("I saw a skull atop a tower; being curious, I
spied upon it"), of sorrow ("she replied with great pain: 'I died without even the knell of the Church
Bells'"), of love ("when I die I am going to paradise; but if I do not see you there, I will not even
enter"), of loneliness ("my years have departed I know not where") and of despair ("now that
I've reached my eightieth year, life calls but death replies in its place"). Check out the preceding
links and I think you will agree that these efforts leave little doubt of the cultural and emotional depth of
the rich customs entrusted to us by our Southern Italian fore-fathers and mothers.

Please check back periodically for further musings from The Calabrian Corner. Ciao for now.

Note:If you identify with my feelings on Italian families, try checking out my new ebook, In
the Twilight of the Moon, which deals with Italian family dynamics, including aggression, depression,
the seeking of parental approval, unrequited love, and dementia in elderly parents. It can be previewed
through Amazon Kindle.